Seven years ago, I stood atop a sagebrush bluff in eastern Oregon, waiting for the coming total eclipse of the sun. Ten minutes before totality, in a half-light like some strange Instagram filter, a Brewer’s Sparrow started singing. The crowd began to exclaim, “It’s coming!” and “Oh my God!” And, then, suddenly, we looked up, and there it was– floating in calm, peaceful stillness, a perfect black disc surrounded by a silky silver corona.